ut of the house on a Sunday evening,
and could hardly be expected to leave his own drawing-room for the
sake of giving a lover an opportunity. No;--he must wait till that
evening should have passed, and then make the occasion for himself as
best he might. The Sunday came and the dinner was eaten, and after
dinner there was the single bottle of port and the single bottle of
claret. "How do you think she is looking?" asked the father. "She was
as pale as death before we got her down into the country."

"Upon my word, sir," said he, "I've hardly looked at her. It is not a
matter of looks now, as it used to be. It has got beyond that. It is
not that I am indifferent to seeing a pretty face, or that I have no
longer an opinion of my own about a woman's figure. But there grows
up, I think, a longing which almost kills that consideration."

"To me she is as beautiful as ever," said the father proudly.

Fletcher did manage, when in the drawing-room, to talk for a while
about John and the hounds, and then went away, having resolved that
he would come again on the very next day. Surely she would not give
an order that he should be denied admittance. She had been too calm,
too even, too confident in herself for that. Yes;--he would come and
tell her plainly what he had to say. He would tell it with all the
solemnity of which he was capable, with a few words, and those the
strongest which he could use. Should she refuse him,--as he almost
knew that she would at first,--then he would tell her of her father
and of the wishes of all their joint friends. "Nothing," he would say
to her, "nothing but personal dislike can justify you in refusing
to heal so many wounds." As he fixed on these words he failed to
remember how little probable it is that a lover should ever be able
to use the phrases he arranges.

On Monday he came, and asked for Mrs. Lopez, slurring over the word
as best he could. The butler said his mistress was at home. Since the
death of the man he had so thoroughly despised, the old servant had
never called her Mrs. Lopez. Arthur was shown upstairs, and found the
lady he sought,--but he found Mrs. Roby also. It may be remembered
that Mrs. Roby, after the tragedy, had been refused admittance into
Mr. Wharton's house. Since that there had been some correspondence,
and a feeling had prevailed that the woman was not to be quarrelled
with for ever. "I did not do it, papa, because of her," Emily had
said with some scorn, and